


Somewhere in Morocco

by Einsteinette



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, hurt!Clint, hurt!natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Einsteinette/pseuds/Einsteinette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha are pinned down in a shack after being ambushed in Morocco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere in Morocco

**Author's Note:**

> An RP I did a few years ago posted at the request of the co-author, nobody-viii. Follow forever, darling. 
> 
> May turn this into a corporeal fanfic but we'll see if time permits.

Clint lay flat on his back on an unfamiliar cot somewhere in the middle of Morocco. He glanced to his left. On a small table just next to him sat various bandages and gauze strips…some bloodied, he noted. Delirium was making it hard to get a grasp on his situation, but he took a deep breath and tried to steady his mind. He remembered an ambush. There was fighting, and Natasha had taken a rooftop position to get a better angle…

Nat.

Where was she? And where was he? Clint struggled to ease into a sitting position, but a searing pain in his chest destroyed any progress, and he dropped back onto the rough pallet he was trapped on. He shook his head in frustration, sending little beads of sweats trickling down his face and neck.

"What the hell happened…" he whispered hoarsely to the empty air.

"You were shot, genius." Came the snarky reply. A figure rose and stepped from the shadows, long red hair flowing over her shoulders. "You nearly died."

Shot. That made sense.

"Natasha, is that you?" His eyes weren't the clearest at the moment. Between the fever, pain, and the poor lighting, it was a challenge to see the person before him. A sigh and a grunt preceded the woman's words. "Damn. Yeah Barton, it's me." Her voice sounded thick, as if she were recovering from a bad cold. Relief coursed through him. She wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere. That was always a good sign.

"You ok?"

"Yeah-uh, yeah Clint, I'm fine, just a scratch. How're you feeling? I mean-are you ok? You got hit pretty bad so-ugh." Natasha tripped over her words. She was so goddamn relieved he was in a semi-stable condition, or at least he was conscious.

"Sure...guess so," he replied. Grinning despite himself, he let his eyes trace over every curve looking for injuries. "What the hell happened back there?"

"We were jumped. I have no idea who the enemy was, but whoever they were, they were packing some heavy artillery." She drew a breath and winced slightly. "I scaled a building to get a better view of who it was, took out a few guys. Basic routine, you know, but then you took a few rounds in the chest and I had to go in. We got separated from everyone else. I literally have no idea where they are. They could be dead..."

The news was disconcerting. 'Dead' wasn't an option for any of their team.

"We going after them?" He tried propping himself on an elbow and managed, but the effort was an obvious stretch of his reserve. "This mess has to be sorted out."

Nat rushed forward, placing a hand on his bandage-plastered chest to stop him from getting up.

"Don't..." she said in a low voice.

For the first time, Clint could see what Natasha actually looked like. Her stomach was wrapped in a thick white bandage and she had a long gash on her cheek. Her hair was wet with rain and she was wearing nothing but an old pair of cargo pants.

"Don't sit up, you'll re-open the wound." Clint scowled as he felt warm liquid seep onto his skin. But that wasn't what had his immediate attention.

"What'd they do to you?"

"I was dragging you off the field and one of the guys charged me. I took his gun from him but he gave me a few nice cuts to think about with a knife before I put a bullet in his skull." She said, her hand still on his chest. Slowly, he eased himself back down. Clint took hold of her hand and squeezed it affectionately.

"Want me to take a look at what's under there?" he teased, despite himself. Nat scowled at him, half indignant, half amused.

"I think my first aid is better than yours, Barton." She teased.

"I wasn't talking about your med skills, Natasha," he chuckled quietly. Gently, he laced his fingers between hers and closed his eyes for a moment. The pain hadn't been a severe issue, but that was beginning to change.

Natasha blushed and as he took his fingers and laced them with hers, a warm feeling blossomed in her chest. She sat on the side of his cot, studying his face, eyes tracing over his closed ones, his jaw, the slight grimace of pain.

"What _were_ you talking about..."

"Those two gems you got there," Clint grinned past the throbbing ache in his chest. "But your eyes will do just fine."

"You're lucky you're hurt!" Natasha said, wanting to smack him over the head with the butt of her pistol, but settling for her hand instead. Clint laughed despite the pain.

"Easy, Hot Sauce." She was gorgeous no matter how banged up she got. He swiped a rain drop from her neck idly and her scowl evaporated with his touch. She hummed at the feel of his warm fingers, her cheeks flushing almost instantly afterwards.

That was a good sign. Too bad he had a few bullet holes in his chest or...well...yeah. He sobered at the slight crimson stain on the bandage protecting her side. "You got something for that?" He gestured at the wound.

Nat shook her head. "Not really. I had to make do with rain water and some rags I found." She said, nodding to scraps of white cloth lying on a table a few feet from where they sat. "You're much worse off than I am though." She said, eyes focusing on his chest for a second.

"Take care of yourself first, Nat. Can't have you...getting all infected. Fever's the last thing you need. You're red enough as it is." He smirked a little at her previous blushing. He closed his eyes once more, focusing on breathing properly. He never liked when Natasha worried. She almost never did.

"I'm fine," she insisted ignoring his remark about her blush, "It's you I'm worried about. I need you." Natasha said.

Clint raised his eyebrows at her.

"In the field! I need you watching my back in the field!"

"No problems there..." he grinned. Fever. A fantastic excuse to get away with whatever a guy wanted to say.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nat said in a mock-affronted tone.

"No idea, sweetheart," he replied, still grinning. It was getting difficult to make sense of anything, but she was here. That was all he needed. Nat put a hand to his forehead.

"You're hot." she said, standing up and grabbing a cloth from a bucket filled with cool water.

"Thanks." Clint coughed, tasting a hint of iron in his mouth. "You're not bad...yourself."

Natasha laughed in spite of herself.

"Of course you would take it that way..." She smiled at his complement though, returning to his side and laying the cold rag over his burning forehead.

"Aghhhhh...damn, that feels good." Clint reveled in the cool presence on his forehead.

Natasha's imagination ran wild against her will at his groan and she blushed again, standing abruptly.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, striding over to her bag and pulling a small canister from her bag.

"No," he replied. Just the thought of food set his stomach on edge.

"You should try to eat. You'll only make yourself weaker." Natasha coxed. She pulled a bag of jerky from the tin along with a water purifier and an empty canteen.

"Don't care." He coughed again, his breath catching a little before evening out. "Not interested."

She sighed, filling the canteen with newly purified water and returning to where he was laying.

"We have to get out of here."

"Sure." But the 'how' would be interesting to figure out. "You have a plan? If we don't know who we're dealing with..."

Natasha nodded seriously. A smaller band of rouges seemed unlikely to have that amount of weaponry, but why would any kind of big organization attack a singular team of assassins? Nat's head spun with questions. "Well, one thing's for sure, neither you nor I is going anywhere until our wounds close." She said, tipping the liquid into his mouth.

“Guess I don’t mind spending a few nights alone with you. Just promise you won’t grope me in my sleep?”

That earned him another smack.


End file.
